


Flamebird

by SharpestRose



Category: Batman (Comics), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-30
Updated: 2011-06-30
Packaged: 2017-10-20 21:48:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/217421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SharpestRose/pseuds/SharpestRose





	Flamebird

His mother has always said "easy come, easy go".

She says it to keep him at his chores, of course; if he works hard for his dataries then he'll appreciate them more. And maybe she's right, because the things he's spent those meagre credits on have always felt precious.

But, now, Jay isn't so sure she's right.

\--

The Knights come through the towns, to test all the babies born since last time they visited. His mother gives him little Lara and tells him to go into the woods where the phoenix berries used to grow, and he does, but the Knights find them anyway. Lara is too little to know when it's prudent to be quiet. Their mother weeps and pleads. "Please, please, not my baby. Please."

But the Knights test Lara's midichlorians, and they're above the range limit. And then they look at Jay, and one of them says "we should check him too, just to be sure".

They prick his finger and their communicator beeps, and one of the Knights smiles and says "ever wanted to be a Jedi, boy?"

\--

His mother sits him down for a long talk when Lara's finally asleep that night, and his mother tells him about how the Knights can't make him go if he doesn't want to, and his mother says he can stay if he likes. But there's no workable land left for miles and the town is slowly choking and nothing is easy, or will ever be.

"Is Lara going?" he asks. His mother closes her eyes and whispers "Yes."

"But you didn't want us checked."

"I know," she sobs. "I don't know. Oh, my little soldier, what will I do without you?"

\--

Some of his mother's saying turns out true, at least, for nothing about Jay's life on the farm has been easy, and going is the hardest thing he's ever done.

\--

And then, after having enough time to almost get used to the idea that he had a new life coming, Jay stands in front of the Council and listens as they say "too old" and "a shame" and "other work will be found."

He hasn't had to do any work to get here; that meant it had to have been easy. But it doesn't feel easy to let go of the new dream, barely newborn. For a moment, Jay was going to be a Jedi, and then the moment ended.

Easy come, easy go.

\--

They give him work at the Temple, helping in the library and the creche and the training rooms. Anywhere that odd jobs can be found, really. Jay suspects that many feel sorry for him, and their pity itches at his heart. He stays because it means he can see Lara.

As he's not a student, he has no curfew or restriction. Coruscant whistles and zips and sings outside the windows he washes and polishes each day, glittering and beckoning. Sometimes he goes walking at night. Once he got lost. He wasn't afraid. It isn't like he has anything to lose, after all.

It isn't so bad, really. Jay likes the work he's given, and there is better food to eat here than at home. He misses his mother, but he isn't lonely. The padawans are, for the most part, cordial, and some are friendly. One of them, a little younger than Jay, takes the time to ask him how he is whenever they meet, and stops to talk to him.

Tim had been brought to the temple as a very young child, like most of the younglings, and Jay sometimes feels a little disconcerted by how certain he is of his place in the world.

"You know exactly where you fit," Jay told him once.

"Well, yes," Tim said slowly. "I suppose I do."

Jay tried to keep a smile on his face. "Must be nice."

"I'm sorry, Jay."

Jay wanted to say "I don't need your pity" or "don't look at me like that" or "there's somewhere for me, and I'll know it when it comes", but instead he just shrugged, and made himself grin. "It's okay."

\--

Jay likes to go to the Temple's library and read about worlds he'd never heard about before. The moons of Endor, as lush as his own planet had been centuries earlier. Krypton, with its cool reason and rich mythology. Naboo's beautiful architecture and tangled trade disputes. Reading about how big the universe is makes it, somehow, seem smaller.

Perhaps even more than the library, Jay likes to watch Tim's training, the way Tim can duck and weave and win a fight even when his eyes are blindfolded.

"Jedi Grayson, Can I learn to do that? I know I'm not going to be a Knight, but I'd love to -"

"You'll have little use for blaster dodging in the AgriCorps, Jay."

Jay can't help but make a face at that. The AgriCorps hold about as much romantic allure for him as mucking out the menageries.

Knight Grayson looks sorry for him for a moment, then says "but I can teach you how to drop down five stories without hurting yourself, if that sounds like fun. Tim has to learn it, too. I can educate the pair of you at once."

Not trusting his voice (it's developed a frustrating habit of wavering across registers, lately), Jay nods.

\--

Still exhilarated from the rush of learning -- and learning a Force trick, at that! -- when evening comes, Jay goes walking out into the City. There are packs of young socialites who follow the night around the planet's surface for days on end; reveling nonstop and leaving glitter and disaster in their wake. Jay likes to watch them dance and laugh and sway, but never accepts the invitations to join their parties. He feels how easy it would be to lose himself to the promise of no consequences and no tomorrows.

On this particular night, he strays into the lower, darker levels. Down nearer to the original, natural surface of the planet, the bright sheen of the new spires above seems impossibly fanciful. This is a world of grime and wheezing, half-crumbled droids. Jay likes it. It's the sort of place hope goes to give up.

"Hey, kid, you looking for a good time?"

"If I was, would I be here?" Jay asks, and then the light catches the side of the Toydarian's face. The skin is the rainbow-black of oily acid. "Hey, are you okay?"

She doesn't answer, wobbling a little as she flies away.

"A gang mugged her," somebody says behind Jay, and for the first time he feels scared. He whirls, but all he can see is the dark.

"Who's there?"

"You shouldn't be here. It isn't safe."

Jay shrugs. "Everyone dies."

"Reckless attitude."

Now he can make out a figure, deep in the shadows, dressed in blue and black. He swallows. "What's it to you?"

"Go home, boy." The figure moves. Tall, and stern, and glaring at Jay.

"Who are you?"

"Nightwing. I protect this part of the City." With that, he's gone.

Jay tries to feel for a Force signature, but he's never learned how.

"Nightwing," he says quietly to himself, and thinks maybe he understands now what it feels like to know where you belong.

\--

"Tim, if you needed to... I mean, that is, if you wanted to find out..." Jay says the next morning, then huffs a breath of frustration. "If you knew a secret name, but you had to find out what the ordinary name of the person was, how would you go about it?"

Tim's brow furrows, his lips a thin and thoughtful line. "A secret name? What do you mean?"

Scrubbing the back of his neck with one palm, Jay inspects the floor. He'll have to sweep it again soon; some of the Knights have tracked sand from the rock gardens in on their shoes. "I don't know. A secret name. A name so people can't find out who you really are."

"But you want to find that out?"

"Yeah."

The lines on Tim's forehead get even deeper. "I suppose," he says, voice slow, "I'd collect as much information as I could about the places I knew they had been, and then I'd see who might have been nearby around the same time. I can help you, if you want."

"No! I mean, um, no thanks. Thank you."

"All right." Tim gives him a lingering, wary look. "If you're sure."

\--

It takes hours to find the barest scraps of information, and that's with the state-of-the-art databanks of the Temple library. He sort of wants to give up, and spend the afternoon watching Tim train with the tracking bots, but a strange sense of resolve grips him tighter than the boredom.

This is something... important.

Something nobody's going to take away from him.

He barely notices the hours as he hunts.

\--

Just before morning's first light, Jay slips back to his sleeping quarters, a datachip tucked into a pocket on his belt.

He has a name to follow up on, and a smile as he slips into sleep.

\--

The Jedi keep a small supply of clip-on padawan braids, for those apprentices who've lost theirs through misadventure. Jay thinks there's probably a clause in their Code about not having pride in one's hairstyle, but the small cabinet of neatly plaited strands is there nonetheless.

He steals one as close to his own hair colour as he can find, hiding it in his boot until he's well out of Temple grounds. Then, attaching it behind his right ear, he does his best to look like he's on Very Important Jedi Business as he boards a transport heading in the direction of the Wayne Towers.

He can't mind-trick, but he's becoming adept in the art of talking fast, and it isn't long before he's on the upper levels of the third, and tallest, of the Towers. The cityscape out the window isn't as impressive as the views from the Council rooms at the Temple, but the sights out these windows don't carry with them remembered disappointments, so Jay likes them better.

"Hello, Mr Wayne," he says when the tower's owner joins him.

Bruce Wayne gives him a polite smile. "Hello. Can I help you with something, Padawan?"

Jay bites his lip and looks out the window, trying to keep his resolve up. "You financed the Kryptonian wing at the Museum of Galactic Heritage," he says, and then "I like Kryptonian stories too," and then "My favourite is about Nightwing and Flamebird. They protected people."

Bruce Wayne's expression doesn't falter or flicker. "Does your Master know you're here?"

The braid comes off with one good tug. "I don't have a Master." The sky outside is a sharp blue, and seems endless. "I don't have anything." With a swallow, he meets Mr Wayne's gaze. "Please let me help."

"I don't think I can help with what you're looking for."

Jay wants to say "no," and "please," and "don't you understand? This is what I'm supposed to do. This is where I fit."

But instead he simply says "You're wrong. You'll see," and leaves.

\--

"Can I take the blindfold off yet?" Tim asks, voice as close to whining as he ever gets.

"Let me think..." Knight Grayson glances over at Jay, and gives a broad wink. "No."

"I saw that," Tim tells them both.

"Good. You shouldn't have any problem seeing your opponents, then."

Tim's mouth twitches in puzzlement. "Opponents? I thought I was fighting only you today, Master."

"I thought Jay might like a try a turn."

"Are you sure that's wise?"

Tim's tone makes Jay want to slap him, or possibly crawl into a dark corner and cry. It's difficult to tell.

"I don't see any harm in it. Might stop you both scowling," Knight Grayson teases.

"I wasn't scowling!" They answer in unison, and the moment's tension evaporates.

\--

A suitable costume, deep gold and vibrant red, costs him most of his savings, but Jay doesn't have anything else to keep them for.

It begins to rain an hour after he starts an informal patrol. The chill drizzle reminds him of the winters of his childhood, when he'd sit at his mother's side and help her shell vegetables for stew.

Sighing, pushing the past back into the past, Jay tries to keep to the dry patches. The latticework of walkways overhead makes a grid of protection.

A Jawa pushes past, muttering to itself as it clutches what looks like a hyperdrive fuse control system to its chest.

"Stop! Hey! You have to pay for that!"

"I'll get her!" Jay calls to the shopkeeper, already running.

He's faster than the Jawa, but the labyrinth of spaces between buildings are more easily navigable by a small, fast-moving scavenger than a would-be hero. Jedi boots are hardy, but before long Jay's feet feel damp and uncomfortable.

"Come back here you little -"

Oh. Jay stumbles as he comes to a stop. Nightwing has the Jawa caught by the collar of her robe.

"I could have caught her."

"Go home, boy."

Jay is torn between sighing and saying "You've already said that, you know", so he does both.

"I'll stop saying it when you listen."

His feet hurt, and his heart stings, but it's still easy enough to turn and run back into the maze of narrow streets.

Two hours and three unconscious criminals later, Jay feels the shadows to his left grow thicker. "Following me?"

Nightwing glares. It seems to be one of his major talents. "How do you expect me to take you seriously when you storm off like a petulant child?"

"I'm not a child. I've seen fourteen of my planet's winters."

"If you behave like a child, I'll assume you're a child."

"You need me. There are supposed to be two. Just like -"

"Sith?" It's almost frightening to hear amusement in Nightwing's voice.

Jay rolls his eyes. "- A _pairbond_. I can watch your back."

"I don't need help." Having said his piece, Nightwing blends back into the shadows.

"And you say I'm the child here!" Jay shouts, stamping his foot, but there's no reply.

\--

"Hah! Got you!"

Tim makes a sound suspiciously like a choked-back yelp, and darts out of the way of Jay's training 'sabre.

"Careful. You're sending off self-satisfaction and jubilance like a wave." Tim circles him on the training mat.

"And jubilance leads to what in your Code, exactly?"

A smirk from Tim, and then a kick Jay doesn't expect.

"Carelessness," Tim says as Jay lands on his back.

"I could have beat you in a dust-wrestle, back home," Jay shoots back, bounding up to his feet again.

"Then I suppose it's my good luck we're not dust-wrestling."

Before Jay can think, frustration and the ache for home and a desire to best Tim coalesces into a wild invisible push, shoving forward and making Tim stumble backwards.

"I didn't... I wasn't..." Jay stammers. "I didn't mean to do that."

"I know." Tim sounds worried. "Your anger stopped you thinking. I... I don't think we should do any more today."

"But Tim -"

"I'm sorry. I..." Tim turns away. "I have to go."

"Fine! See if I care! Go back to your Master and your training! I have to go change the bedding in the nursery anyway."

Tim doesn't look back. "I'm sorry, Jay."

"I don't need your damned pity, Padawan."

\--

As soon as night falls, he takes his leave and heads for the lower levels of the city. He still has duties left unfinished, but nobody stops him.

He can almost hear Tim's voice in his head - "You can't declare that you reject sympathy and then manipulate pity to your own advantage." But he ignores the conscience-voice and drops into a barely controlled fall, letting stories blur past as the air roars in his ears.

Pockets of slave-traders have begun to spring up, and Jay spends a few satisfying hours chasing down the scattered villains.

Eventually he senses the shadows near him stir and shift, and Nightwing steps out of the dark.

"You've been busy."

"I've been efficient," Jay retorts. "There's a difference. And spare me the speech tonight, okay? You can't tell me what to do."

Nightwing nods once, a sharp movement of his head, and refolds his arms.

Jay feels the skin on his back prickle. "What?"

"I have been... reconsidering."

It takes a moment for the words to sink in, for Jay to feel like they had really been spoken. "Oh yeah?"

"Yes. That is, if you are still interested. Flamebird."

Jay can only imagine what his mood would feel like to Tim, though he suspects that 'jubilance' wouldn't cover the half of it.

\--

"Where's Lara... where's Lara... there she is!"

Lara burbles and claps her hands.

"Where's Lara... where's Lara... there she is!"

"You're very good with her," Tim says, watching from the doorway.

"My mother worked in the fields from dusk to dawn. I had to look after Lara almost every night."

"Well, you have a gift for it."

When Jay doesn't answer, Tim sighs and scrubs a hand over his hair. "I want to apologise. I'm sorry for the way I've treated you lately."

"I'm a little exhausted with hearing you say sorry."

"Right. Sor - Um. I'll stop."

Jay laughs. After a second, Tim joins in.

"I have a confession. I've been a little nervous around you lately."

Jay carries Lara back over to her crib. "That's not a confession, Tim. I noticed that. Also, the sky is often blue during the day."

"Master Yoda hits apprentices on the ankle with his walking stick when they use sarcasm."

"So what changed your mind? Why aren't I a worry anymore?"

Tim reaches into the deep sleeve of his robe. "I followed you."

The joy which has carried Jay through the morning stumbles at Tim's words. "What?"

"I... I thought you were turning to the Dark. I would have... understood, I think." Tim draws out a small holodisc. A miniature Jay, flickering and blue, punches down two Hutt mercenaries.

"You didn't get my good side."

"I had to know. I'm -"

"Yes, sorry, we covered that. What would you have done if I had been... what do the Sith call their apprentices?"

Tim shakes his head. "I don't know. I kept telling myself that I'd tell my Master."

"Are you going to tell him about this?"

Tim shuts the holodisc off and puts in back inside his robe. "No. Not as things are now."

"Which is your way of saying that you will, if you think things change sufficiently in the future."

Tim nods. "Yes."

There doesn't seem anything to do but shrug. "All right. I know you'll do what's best."

\--

Coruscant whirrs and zips around him, hot winds of exhaust fracturing the night air. In amongst the noise and busyness, there's an incongruous kind of tranquility to be found, and for Jay it's no less real than any Jedi enlightenment could be.

He closes his eyes, and trusts his instincts.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Illustration for Flamebird](https://archiveofourown.org/works/264091) by [ratcreature](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ratcreature/pseuds/ratcreature)




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